


Yule Sing Your Heart Out

by Zesty_Bill_Clinton



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Catholic School, Christmas, F/F, Lesbians, M/M, catholic school gay awakening, choir, christmas concerts, girl out boy, they’re both girls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:20:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23831515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zesty_Bill_Clinton/pseuds/Zesty_Bill_Clinton
Summary: Pat Stump is the star singer of Saint Gertrude’s Christmas Choir, and has won them the spot at the city’s biggest Christmas concert three years in a row.  When her senior year rolls around she expects a fourth win in the bag without much of a hitch.  But when a very un-catholic school girl shows up to the choir, Pat’s a little less sure she even wants to win.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Yule Sing Your Heart Out

Christmas can mean a lot of different things to different people, but to Pat Stump it, above all else, meant one thing.  
The Holy Name Cathedral’s annual Christmas concert.  


Every year, church and school choirs from the city and surrounding state would audition to perform at the Concert, and Pat’s school had won three years in a row (all three of which matching up to her years of participation in said choir). Saint Gertrude’s Academy for Girls was famed in all of Chicago for being the best girls choir in the state. This was mostly thanks to their choir teacher, but it wasn’t impossible to infer that their success was due in part to Pat’s star-studded soul voice.  


Not that Pat was cocky, in fact she was far from it. She tried to be unassuming, and although she brought them most of their success, she wasn’t very popular with the other girls in the choir. Girls who’s promise rings would blink in the light as they chattered to each other, uninterested in music theory and the masterful chord progressions in Pat’s favorite song of the week. Even though the time between songs was sometimes unbearable, once the piano started up again, Pat remembered why she kept at this stupid choir thing. Her voice would soar like the metaphors of doves and holy acts that she sometimes forgot to believe in, and all the questions she held would fall away as she folded into the sweet spot of her voice, sliding into her solo like it was more natural than walking.  


Pat was sure the competition season would play out as usual for her fourth (and final) time up until the first day of auditions for that year’s Christmas Choir. Pat was sitting at the piano flitting through the teacher’s music choices for the season, not worried about auditioning when her spot was practically guaranteed already. Her eyes would flit up to watch the girls file in, some girls the same, some doe eyed freshman. Pat was jaded just enough to pity them, still uncomfortable in the stiff plaid of their new school uniforms. “Trust me” she wanted to say. “They don’t get any more comfortable.”  


But Pat’s leisure was interrupted by the appearance of a girl she had never seen before, wearing a senior’s tie. It was normal for girls to transfer in in their third or fourth year to Saint Gertrude’s, but not girls who looked like her. She had long dark hair that was flat-ironed straight and thick side swept bangs nearly covered her eyes. She had loads of thin leather bracelets around her wrists and her face looked like that of someone who wore makeup a lot (perhaps she had worn it to school and the nuns had forced her to wash it off in the bathroom, it wasn’t an unheard of occurence.) Either way, Pat knew she should probably stay away. Her parents had probably sent her here because she was too rebellious for any other schools and a “good proper catholic schooling” would fix her before she finished high school. Most parents who thought that way never went to catholic school themselves…

In the practice room besides the choir’s home, Andy had her hands on the piano, going over the audition piece one more time before she had to play accompaniment to the gaggle of girls who thought they were good singers. She hummed the tune over in her head before her fingers hit the keys and the sound of “hark the herald angels sing” sang out into the sound proofed room. For a few short minutes Andy felt comfortable in her skin. She could forget itch of her uniform’s skirt, the weight of her shoulder length hair. Hair tied up into a ponytail her mother insisted she “do something with” - do something besides cut of course. She’d have much preferred to be playing the drums, her instrument of choice when it came down to it. But to be lost in the music in any way shape or form was a relief in itself.  


As the chorus faded out Andy heard a knock on the door, she turned to see Joesphine Trohman, one of 3 jewish girls attending the catholic school, and an incumbent junior, peeking her head in the door.  


“They’re starting” She said, with the air of someone who constantly chewed gum, or maybe smoked weed.  
Andy simply nodded and followed her back to the chorus room where Ms. Hanna was standing giving her usual spiel about commitment and whatnot.  


“And this is Andrea” Ms. Hanna said in her sickly sweet choir teacher voice. Andy nodded to the class as Ms. Hanna continued talking. Her eyes passed over the class. She spotted Trohman, seated on one of the higher levels of the risers, leaning back with an ease that few in the room had that crucial audition day. She spotted Pat Stump, sitting primly to the side, looking far more nervous than she of all people should be, then Andy spotted Pat’s neighbor, the infamous Pete Wentz. “Poor thing” Andy thought, and she wasn’t sure if it was directed at Pat or Pete.  


See the thing is, Pete was Andy’s neighbor growing up. They were never friends, the nerdy tomboy and the popular girly girly never are. But she had heard enough about the girl, saw who she brought up the fire escape the two neighboring apartments shared. But by the time high school rolled around Andy was shipped off to catholic school and Pete ended up who knows where. Well, Saint Gertrude’s apparently.  


As Ms. Hanna finished her spiel Andy took her seat at the piano and the first few girls went up. It was mundane as always, with hopeful after hopeful singing their hearts out as if they were the best singers in the room (which their parents had likely been telling them since birth). Andy only really paid attention when the alphabetical list hit “S”. The name “Patricia Stump” was called out and the rosey pink girl made her way to the front of the room. Despite everyone in the entire state thinking she was incredible, she walked like she was invisible. Perhaps, Andy thought, she considered herself invisible. Though Ms. Hanna paid her plenty of attention, the catty girls of Saint Gertrude’s were far more likely to spit words of jealousy than to outstretch the hand of friendship. Andy couldn’t help but wonder what would become of Pete, in this world of petty catholic school drama.  


But still, Pat sung. She sung like she was truly heralding the angels in with her voice. Her voice was low, soul in much of its elements, but shone like she was spinning gold. Her eyes were pressed tight as she sung, but somehow it felt like she was looking right into your soul. Or at least, that’s what Pete thought. Looking up from fiddling with her hair to the girl in front of her.  


“Patricia” she thought to herself, making a point of remembering the girl’s name. For the first time in her premiere weeks at Saint Gertrude’s, Pete felt like something, someone, was real. The mask of perfection that everyone held up against strangers was pulled away by this girl she didn’t even know. 

It was no surprise when the list came out the next day who was to be a part of the Christmas Choir, well there was one surprise. As Ms. Hanna pasted the list to the chorus door just as the last bell rang, all the hopeful girls swarmed around it like fruit flies to a picnic. Pat received the top spot, and the other juniors and seniors fell into their spots, along with a couple sophomores and one freshman making it in. The real surprise was one young Petra Wentz. Pete had sung well, maybe better than some of the more experienced singers. But Ms. Hanna was not one to not play favorites, and Pete was nothing near the look Ms. Hanna wanted for her choir. And yet, there she was, at the bottom of the seniors section. Pete herself was even surprised to be chosen. She couldn’t mistake the glares of contempt that accompanied her presence on the list and it truly reminded her that yes, this was still high school, despite the new faces. Pete met her only reprieve from hostility when she turned away from the chorus door and broke through the crowd into the open hallway. 

Pete felt a hand on her wrist and she recoiled from the touch instinctively. It wasn’t until she looked up to see who the hand belonged to that her muscles relaxed. Her eyes landed on who else but Pat Stump, whose gaze was cast towards the ground so intensely that Pete couldn’t remember if she’d ever seen the color of the girl’s eyes.  
“Congrats Pete” the girl said, her eyes flicking up to meet Pete’s before quickly flitting back down. In that moment Pete felt like the sky had been burned into her retinas, the bluest blue she had ever seen on another human’s eyes swam in her vision like sunspots.  
“Thanks” Pete said slowly, trying to wrap her mouth around what was probably her third string of words that day.  
“The girls at this school…” Pat said “They can be bitches”  
At that Pete laughed aloud and she could see the lines of a smile crinkle around the edges of Pat’s eyes.  
“Well, since they’re”  
“Bitches?”  
“Yeah, bitches” Pat said, and both girls began to snicker again.  
“Well anyway, if you need someone to sit with during rehearsals, at least until Hanna assigns the solos, my side’s always open.”  
Pete gave Pat a lopsided grin. “I might just take you up on that Patricia.”  
“Ugh, don’t ever call me Patricia, only my grandmother and the worst teachers call me that. It’s Pat.”  
“Pat? Got it.” Pete said before shooting Pat a small wink.  
“Well, I’ve got to start walking, before it starts to rain again.” Pat said, nodding to the shiny rubber boots that encased her feet.  
“Want me to drive you?”  
“You don’t have to, it’s probably out of your way.”  
“Oh come on, I’ve got time to kill.”

Pat found her self climbing into Pete’s car, a 1986 Pontiac Sunbird in blue. It sort of looked as if it had rolled out of car impound yard after sitting there since the 90s, but Pete looked at if as if it were her baby.  
“Her name’s Delilah”  
“You named your car?” Pat asked incredulously.  
“And you didn’t?”  
Pat laughed nervously  
“I actually don’t drive.”  
“No car?”  
“No license.”  
Pete looked at her like she had two heads before Pat got defensive.  
“Hey! Driver’s ed is expensive and I don’t want to deal with Chicago traffic”  
“Chicago suburb traffic”  
“Whatever.” Pat said, but she couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe it was the nerves of being in a near stranger’s car, but she didn’t feel like she could hold Pete’s comments against her.  
Pete put the car in reverse before glancing at Pat.  
“Don’t look so tense.” Pete said.  
“I’m not tense.” Pat said, but Pete raised an eyebrow at her while looking out the rear window.  
“Ok maybe my parents don’t like me going in people’s cars. They get nervous about teenage drivers.”  
“That explains a lot.”  
“Shut up!”  
Pete smirked but shrugged.  
“Sorry I keep getting on your case, I’m not the best at making friends.”  
“Me neither.” Pat said.  
“What if I put on some music?”  
Pat shrugged and nodded as Pete slipped in a cassette tape.  
“The cars old and what can I say, I’m old fashioned.”  
Pat hummed in acknowledgement as the first few notes of the tape roared back at her. It took her a few moments to recognize the familiar riffs, but then she knew she had truly found a friend.  
“Is this?”  
“Bratmobile? Hell yeah”  
Pat felt her smile grow two sizes in a moment as Corin Tucker’s voice filled the car.  
“I didn’t think I’d meet anyone else at St. Gertrudes that likes Bratmobile, or like anything Riot Grrl.”  
“Well consider yourself shocked.” Pete said in between her bad lip syncing of the verses and near running of red lights.  
“Oh and the tapes are all original, I got them off eBay as a Christmas Gift to myself last year.”  
“You’re kidding.”  
“Not one bit.”  
Pat smiled as she took in the grainy rawness of the sound. Obviously the quality was questionable, but that quality almost felt more natural than the near perfection of hearing it remastered on Spotify. She had considered buying some herself, but she was 1. broke and 2. didn’t want to explain any package she received to her parents.  
Pete nodded along to the music as she slid to the outskirts of suburban Chicago. Pat directed Pete to her house, a gray ranch house with a lawn that could probably use a mow.  
“It’s not much” Pat apologizes as she pulls her bag into her lap.  
“I think it’s cute” Pete says, appraising the house and comparing it to the tiny apartment she shares with her parents and brother.  
“Thanks for driving me, by the way.”  
“Don’t worry about it.”  
Pat is quiet for a moment, lingering as if she wanted to say something.  
“I should go” Pat says, hoping out of the car and going up to the garage. Pete watches her for a moment as the garage door rolls open.  
“Hey” Pete says, rolling her window down quickly.  
“Are you doing anything this weekend?”  
Pat looked back at Pete and shrugged.  
“Do you want to hang out?”  
“Ok”  
“Ok”  
Pete nodded and the garage behind Pat finished opening. Pat nodded back and they both stared at each other before Pete cracked a smile. Pete cracked a smile and they both began to laugh at the sheer awkwardness of each other, of teenage girls trying to make a friend.  
“Can I pick you up at 1 on Saturday?”

**Author's Note:**

> Let’s cross our fingers I actually write a second chapter


End file.
